On The Road With Josh #7 - Uh Oh Urbana and The End of the Midwest

Josh is currently on tour with a national musical touring show company. To keep his sanity amidst the natives, he is emailing travelogues out from the road. He has graciously agreed to let me post them here for your enjoyment.

Names of some identifiable theaters, towns and country music stars have been edited to protect Josh from identifying Google searchs. CAPITALIZED NOUNS indicate my only edits to his posts.

Fans, who wish to track Josh's ongoing travels can read his previous entries here.

On The Road With Josh #7:
Uh Oh Urbana and The End of the Midwest

Holl-errrrr!

Let's unsnap a clutch of conversation, and get this e-mail started, huh!?

Status Update: In Madison until Tuesday morning. Currently staying at a Hilton (j'adore.) And the best news – say it with me, annunciate it beautifully, let it tickle your tongue and resonate off your soft palate – I have 39 days of tour left!

Well, we have just been a'drivin' ev'rwhere. Let's do a re-cap of the last part of the Midwest, thus far my favorite part of the tour…though you would never know it from the running bitchy commentary:

Detroit Lakes, MN: Crew: One technical guy (so…a TG, if you will) wearing a mad bomber winter hat with ear flaps, lines with what I can only imagine was his latest kill; the rest of the crew included Nascar Boy (who had a penchant for rap music that can best be described as the kind which promotes shoving one's stuff in another's junk), the wife of the TG (who said that she would gladly take all the costume back to her home to launder/press/steam to which I responded by saying "no, no and nay, nay"), and a gaggle of three other friendly redneck Minnesotans. Venue: It was fine, although the sign on the marquee read "Ted dy Roose velt & the Treasure of Ur sa Ma jar." (ED NOTE: TITLE BROKEN UP TO PREVENT GOOGLING.) Majar…like it's a classic American tale with a Bollywood flare. The hotel was lovely and very comfortable.

Brookfield, WI: Crew: Only two people showed up for the 5am load-in which was followed by two shows, and a 450 mile drive to East Lansing. At the very least, our four-man/one-woman crew knows the show enough that we were able to get everything done with the venue crew's help by the time the actors arrived at 8:45am. Hotel: The hotel was great. Marriot Townplace Suites is an excellent and affordable place to stay when traveling on extended business trips. All the comforts of a studio apartment, with cookies and coffee always in the main building are the MTPS's.

East Lansing, MI: I actually met someone from the Michigan Militia at a Wal-Mart checkout lane, and cowered in awe of the stupidity and misplaced patriotism I beheld (and I think I was followed back to the hotel.) There was this woman who, after walking her dog, went into the main building at 8pm, right before myself and the TD for our show, and we watched her stuff 8 chocolate chip cookies into her pocket, and then proceeded to take one of two left on the plate to eat on her way back to her den of slack and loneliness. For real! The nerve! I mean, those were the last cookies of the day, and they had been fresh, THEY HAD BEEN FRESH, PEOPLE!... The venue was fine, with a student crew, although the lights took forever to focus because they had been hung upside down…um…oops… Shows went well, all were happy, tour moves on.

Cedar Falls, IA: We stayed at the Black hawk Historic Hotel, a bed and breakfast set on the corner of the quaintest of quaint main streets. Sadly, the only thing to do on the street at night is eat at one of the three nice restaurants, or go to any and all of the bars. There is also a store called "Fancy Fashions" which caters to the zebra-print and red lace community….ew. The cool thing about the hotel, however, was that the halls were filled with desks and chests that have all sorts of things in them…I know because I snooped. Filled with old-world charm and a sushi bar next door, it was the best time off before the craziness of April. The new corset and skirt came, FINALLY . I spent two days off working on them and they look just lovely. They came half-heartily constructed…quelle surprise… The venue was fine, huge, and the shows went well.

Champaign-Urbana, IL: Okay, and no good deed goes unpunished. Well, we had a fairly successful load-in, and the crew was responsive, but would you know the venue done screwed up in a lot of ways. After more drama with the damn headers and columns, and a marvelous catch-up with the dearest of old friends, we come in for the first set of shows to find our costume gondolas had been rifled through. My pants were stolen, and a few other items. In addition, the crew was not on time for places so we had to start five minutes late, and a luncheon with donors had been scheduled after the show and no one told us. The PRODUCTION COMPANY never heard of it, we didn't hear about it, and they cancelled it eventually and didn't tell us. In between performances on the second day, some sound guys came in and started striking the sound equipment claiming they had a go-ahead from events to use it…never mind we had yet another performance the following day in addition to the second one of this day. What the dilly yo', my peeps….. To the bitch who took my pants: I wish you nothing but the best at absolutely nothing, and I totes predict you will fail your dance final. To the events office at the LOCAL PERFORMANCE VENUE: stop wearing tight, shiny shoes…they do not make up for your lack of excellence. I'm so sad, too, because VENUE was where I first became entranced with the idea of being on a stage and therefore theatre. Kinda made me hate that I know the backstage truth. On the upside, look how fantastic it is that my life has come full circle thus far: I wanted to be on that stage when I was 8, and now in 2008, I AM on that stage…hiding behind a bed during a scene until the scene change…

We have two days off in Rockford coming up, and then off to the west with four 500 mile drive days to look forward to. I am ashamed in saying that I will be spending most of my time in Rockford in front of a video game, whether it is Final Fantasy, The Crystal Chronicles, or Mario Party…. Head up, chin out, shoulders back, and hand holding coffee.

Nothing says clean like a color cleanse! Seriously, it makes you wanna dance…like in The Wiz!

Joshua

TRON Mania

I love TRON. In all of it's early eighties, cutting-edge technology. I love the full synthesizer soundtrack. I love the slow-as-Melville plotting. Most of all, I love the visual look of the film. I love the blue energy lines in the costume, and the design of the tanks and the speeder-bike race. TRON is not about the plot. It's about the LOOK of the film and that's why it works for me.

These guys are fans too. They've found extensions of their interest in TRON and ended up with some pretty cool results.

Here's a French Cardboard remake of the speeder-bike race. Check it out...

Tron
by freres-hueon

Pretty cool, eh?

I don't know if you would call THIS cool. But here's an interview from the Jimmy Kimmel show with Jay Maynard, the TRON guy. (A few years ago, Jay made his own TRON costume and posted the pics on the internet. And because Jay is a little overweight and has a funny little moustache and because most people couldn't fathom the desire to do something like this...the pictures became an internet sensation.)

Why, here's one of them now...



So, yeah, that's Jay, in his costume. And maybe you can imagine why people forwarded his pics all over the internet.

Eventually, the Jimmy Kimmel show called, requesting that Jay come on the show and he did and here's what his visit was like...

One of "My Favorite Things"

If there's a better album than John Coltrane's "My Favorite Things", then I don't know what it is.

Fuck, that guy is amazing.

This is, by the way, what I've been shoving in my ears lately. I acquired it through the Library Grift. It makes me think of Chicago. In the best possible way.

Simply Amazing.

"Have you ever thought about doing some theater?"

Another amusing little story from the new job...

Today, as I was munching on lunch at my desk, a random stranger walked up to the window of the door to my office. A nice looking, older gentleman. Wearing a jogging suit and dark sunglasses.

"Excuse me," he said, "Sorry to interrupt your lunch. Do you have a second?"

I took a sip of water to clear my throat and turned around, ready to engage him in friendly assistance to whatever he might need.

"Sure. What can I do for you?", I asked.

"Well, my name is LOCAL PLAYWRIGHT and I do a lot of stuff here with MY THEATER." he said.

"Oh sure, I've heard the name," I added helpfully.

"Really?" he asked.

"Sure. Are you HIS NAME, the playwright?" I asked.

He looked a little stunned to be recognized. "Yes, that's me." He flipped up his sunglasses to get a better look at me with his unshaded glasses. I think he was trying to remember if he knew me from somewhere and had somehow forgotten me.

"Didn't you write THE NAME OF HIS PLAY?" I asked him.

"Holy Cow! Yes, I did! How do you KNOW all of this?" and he actually rocked back in the window a little bit, totally stunned. He held onto the lip of my window, to keep from falling backwards.

I explained, "Well, LOCAL THEATER COMPANY is producing that show in August, here at the theater. I prepared their contract earlier this week and they signed the contract yesterday. So, I've been processing the follow-up paperwork a lot since then. So, I've been looking at your name for two or three days now."

"Well, that makes sense. I guess that they would be doing the paperwork now for that run, wouldn't they?" he was recovering from the shock of being recognized. "You've got a really great memory for names and such."

We transitioned into his initial request. Making sure that a Jeff committee member had requested two tickets, instead of one for a show premiere on Monday. I called the box office. They didn't know. The producing company was tracking the reservations for their opening night.

I happened to know that their stage manager, a fellow employee of my theater, was in the mainstage and we went in there together, to ask her about the tickets. She was on her cell, wrapping up a call, which meant that the playwright and I had a minute more to chat.

"Have you ever thought about doing some theater?" he asked me, "With your memory, script retention would be a breeze and you've got a very warm personality. You'd be perfect for the stage."

"I actually do a little bit of comedy and improv around the city right now," and I told him about the April 5th Sickest Stories, because, well, it's the newest thing that I'm promoting right now AND because I frankly think that anyone could and should go see that show. He asked a few questions about the show format and I told him about it, until my co-worker ended her call and came over to talk to us. I introduced his question and left them to work it out.

He stopped back by my desk on his way out and said, "You should let the folks at the theater know that you're interested in doing some readings. I think you'd be really good for that. And you can help these playwrights really shape their new works in a really positive way. Look into it, okay?"

I said I would and he flipped down his sunglasses, waved briefly and was on his way. A nice little interlude in the middle of an otherwise boring, office work day.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Plugged In, At Work!

I am ashamed to admit that I've been working here for six months and JUST NOW figured out that I could plug my ipod into my computer speakers and listen to my music at work. (I've been secretly thinking about getting a USB plug for the computer to play my music on Itunes.) This solution is less elegant, but it will serve nicely.

We have my 80 gig ipod set on random shuffle and it is currently playing "Air" by Ben Folds Five. My co-worker Jenn and I are absolutely loving it.

Huzzah!

I wonder where else I could plug my ipod in to enjoy my music all the time...

Cheers,
Mr.B

The Library Grift

Two weeks ago, my boss had me research the Chicago Public Library system, looking for two rare books that he wanted to read. Whilst I was surfing their website, I stumbled upon the fact that you can request music CDs to be sent from one branch to another for easy pickup.

Which means that anyone with a library card has access to the CPL's entire music catalogue... if one is patient enough.

You can also search the entire catalogue online, find a disk that you're looking for, request it to be sent to your library, all without ever leaving your computer.

I discovered this news two Fridays ago.
Two Saturdays ago, I got my new library card.
That day, I picked out 6 disks (the maximum) and took them home to rip onto my computer and drop onto my ipod.

In two weeks since then, I've done the same for a total of 25 different disks. (with 5 more travelling to my local library from parts unknown.) My cowboy music collection has begun expanding. Gene Autry. Riders In The Sky. Hank Williams Sr. and Two other cowboy music compilations.

I've also finally picked up all of the Coldplay disks. Toots and the Maytals. The Kinks. The Rolling Stones. The Velvet Underground. Neil Diamond. Sam & Dave. Patsy Cline. John Williams. Tom Waits. They Might Be Giants. John Coltrane. Regina Spektor. Malvina Reynolds. And the Broadway soundtracks to Man of La Mancha and Sweeney Todd (because I am gay for musicals).

Once the disk is burned onto the ipod, I make a backup of the disks for my own storage and then clear them off of my computer (which is so old that I really can't keep music on it).

I feel like I'm getting away with something that I shouldn't. Technically speaking, there's nothing wrong with what I'm doing. I pay my taxes, so that covers my financial investment in the library itself. Also, these materials are free and available for my consumption, with the caveat that I don't burn copies of them for anyone (or sell copies of the disks to anyone). Which I haven't done. All of the music that I've burned from them, has gone onto my ipod and that's where it ends.

Sure, it's shaky legal ground, but I think it works. And frankly, I love the idea that I'm getting away with something and the fun of thumbing through the library's musical catalogue, looking for some rare treat that I didn't know was there, is a pleasure too. Knowing that I'm sticking it to the recording industry, if only a little bit, makes it that much better, too.

Cheers,
D.J. Stickyfingerzz

All Your Bass (And Treble) Are Belong To Us.

Jesus Christ Superbrunch - 2008!

Well, it was just as awesome and hilarious and Holy as you would expect it to be. On Easter Sunday, 2008, me and 9 other friends gathered at Ben and Carrie's beautiful apartment for brunch and a viewing of the 1973 movie musical, "Jesus Christ Superstar". (Dedicated blog readers will note that I credited the musical to Sondheim in my previous post. It's actually Andrew Lloyd Webber. Whoops. Sorry about that.)

Everyone brought something to contribute to the meal. Lisa prepped a lovely and delicious fruit tray with oranges, grapes and strawberries. My Canadian Friend, Jenn, brought Canadian Ham (which I was surprised to learn is NOT called Canadian Ham in Canada. They call it "Bacon". Crazy Canucks!) I brought Grands Biscuits. Ben and Carrie made ham. Erin brought eggs and Natalie brought sweet potatoes. Sayjal brought coffee and her French Press. Louie brought champagne and orange juice and Chrissie brought a delicious apple-bread. Matt and Brandy brought a matzoh dish and turkey bacon. Ben also hid candies all around the apartment, including the Holy Grail of Easter Candy, the unholy Reese's Peanut Butter Egg.

While a few folks cooked in the kitchen, we warmed up with a half viewing of the musical "Godspell".



We all took turns being delighted or confused by that particular day-glow monstrosity.

Want to see a whole room of people entranced by the majesty of "Jesus Christ Superstar"?



As it turns out, Natalie is also a superfan of the movie. She and I sang along with the film and a couple of times, she would stop the movie and answer our questions about how what we were seeing actually related to what was in The Bible. (Natalie knew quite a bit about that too.) All of which just enhanced the movie for us.



Everyone filled up on the food. A couple of folks went back for seconds, as best they could. The Matzoh and the Canadian Bacon were both big hits.



After we cleared away the food, we made one more hot rack of fresh biscuits and ate that while we sipped mimosas and watched the rest of the movie together. People generally seemed to like the movie. All of the chatter would die down during "I don't know how to love him" and the Crucifixion. After the movie ended, I was pleasantly surprised to see that people didn't just leave. We actually hung out and chatted for another hour and a half, gossiping and just generally catching up.

All in all, everyone had a really grand Easter holiday.



And because it's obligatory, we took a "funny" picture too.



Oh, and we've agreed to do it all again, next year.

In His Name...

Cheers,
Mr.B

On The Road With Josh - Finally Caught Up.

For those of you who have been reading Josh's travelogues from the road, I thought you would like to know that I've posted all of the previously unposted letters from him. Previously, I only had letters # 3, 5, & 6. I've added posts #1, 2 & 4. I've also pre-dated them so that they'll be in order, in my blog. (Please note that I picked the post-date on those entries to put them, roughly in order. These were not the dates or times that I received the emails from Josh.)

You should check them out. I keep them all stored here. You are going to want to know what a "cock holster" actually is, before you use the term, right?

Check them out.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Happy Easter, Bitches!

Hey, since there's a good chance that I won't be on my blog all weekend, let me offer up some Happy Easter wishes for you today, to carry you through the weekend.

Happy Christ's Resurrection Day, Bitches!

Enjoy this Easter-themed Peep Show!


Cheers,
Mr.B

PS. If you're not totally offended already, check out this essay that I wrote two Easters ago about the True Story of Easter.

Mmmm, tastes like sacrilege!

On The Road With Josh #6 - Politechnics & The New Josh Order

Josh is currently on tour with a national musical touring show company. To keep his sanity amidst the natives, he is emailing travelogues out from the road. He has graciously agreed to let me post them here for your enjoyment.

Names of some identifiable theaters, towns and country music stars have been edited to protect Josh from identifying Google searchs. CAPITALIZED NOUNS indicate my only edits to his posts.

Fans, who wish to track Josh's ongoing travels can read his previous entries here.

On The Road With Josh #6:
Politechnics & The New Josh Order

Dear All

Pre-Firstly: Happy Easter!

Firstly: 50 Days of T-Ro Tour Left! Oh, I know it's a beautiful thing, and I cannot wait for the sound and smell of sweet home Chicago!

Secondly: I have cut my own hair, and I'm very excited about that.

NOTABLE ODDITIES….

1) "Need A Hand? Call the Master Baiters!" (On a sign for a tackle shop traveling into Michigan…I bet they thought this was "cute.")

2) "And Then There Were None," for Nintendo (A Nintendo game at GameStop, and oh yes, it is the Agatha Christie novel… I can't wait for the "A Room With a View" and "Remains of the Day" video games to come out. Seriously, what child do you know waits with anticipation for this? Is this a British thing?)

3) Pedro's Mexican Restaurant, Brookfield, WI (The waitress I had told me a "joke," with the most stereotypical Northern accent. It goes like this, "So ya know, people who are left-handed are sinners. Ya know why? It's 'cause God caught them doing something they shouldn't with their right hand." ...and then for some reason I had no desire to eat my burrito…)

4) Scribbled on a makeup room counter: "It's not so much that God isn't listening; it's just that God doesn't like you and wants you to stop asking for shit." (Brilliant.)

So up to this point, I've poked fun at everything that makes no sense to me in my safe, bitchy, city-swelled head. And rightly so…there is much to say about us Am'ricans. But let me draw you away from the oddities that make this country such a target for French loathing, and explain the inner-workings of this fine-oiled machine known as tour.

**WARNING** I cuss like a mean, hateful pirate throughout the rest of this e-mail, so if you view such language to be offensive rather than expressive, then go to your happy place and play with your metaphorical kitty, puppy, bunny, or gerbal-y...

Everything has become low; moods are low, energy is low, morale is low, and expectations are low. Little things we all do around each other (i.e. swallowing/smacking sounds with lips and tongue where there was once silence) are grating on all nerves. Much of this is due to the weather, what feels like almost too much time off, and what I call polititechnics. Polititechnics is the system of ideas that are good in theory, are not good for the situation, and are expected to be followed/tried/accommodated because someone with an ego or vision will throw a fit if they are not, and someone else just can't have that. Case in point:

Way back last year, when the show was first produced, the budget was substantial for all involved. Fast forward to July 2008, and the budget was "considerably less" (read: instead of $10, 000, the costume budget was reduced to $5000...ya know, big redux). All properties, costumes, set pieces, scenery, lighting, and sound was to remain the same, and yet made "tourable," which is not a real word, but it saves time.

Due to the set designer's incorrect measurements, the heavy set pieces were not made tourable; in fact, the shop did absolutely nothing, save some basic touch-ups. The costumes were taken out of a box (were not dry-cleaned, I found out) and thrown on the actors, with a few new pieces supplemented in, five of which were not completely ready until after we had opened. The lighting plot (with 200 lights to focus, only 26 of which travel with us) was kept in its entirety.

Many of the 300 properties were "re-done," but nonetheless were all still exceptionally fragile. The only major addition to this saga was in the form of two "headers" that connect the tops of the two sets of upstage columns. In the original production, there was just one stationery header that weighed a ton but was designed to fit in that theatre space (the problem, really, with everything on tour – it was designed with only home base in mind.) During tech week, we discovered that the additional headers that were built for the tour added another couple tons to our already heavy show, the shop had imbedded incorrect hanging devices in them, plus the paint job did not match the existing columns, and we would just have to deal with repainting them on the road…fuckuhsaywhat?!

We did not take these things with us (God bless our TD), but what was done was a second set of fabric headers, painted to look like the columns...fuckuhdidwhat?! They're not long enough for the distance between both sets of columns, and the answer was then to move the columns closer together on stage by about 8 inches, which would decrease the already small playing space due to the size and mobility of the set pieces, affect the blocking and choreography which relies heavily on the set pieces, messes up the line-sets for masking, the star drop, scrim, cyclorama, and lights, messes up the deck plot and mobility of the crew, and the funny thing about all this is that due to the size of certain houses (more often than not) we can't use the headers because of deck dimensions, lack of fly pipes, and length of set-up time/competency of venue crew. The going price for the entire header saga: $20,000...the set budget for the tour was only $1000…

All this stuff was discussed after opening, and we didn't even receive the fabric headers until after we'd been touring for near two months… There is much to be said for designer/director concepts and visions, but seriously just stop. There are enough visions that go on with this production, regularly, that even Miss Cleo would go catatonic

Planning is everything. If you plan well, you consider these things: if there is not enough money, you don't expect to use any extra; if there is not enough time, you don't overdo your project; if there is not enough help, you don't promise something will happen at a certain time. When did this belief in invincibility and "no problems, only challenges" consume common sense and reality? Sure, it's great to be breaking a mold and being smart, but sometimes there are things that stray from the production and enter the ego-driven-you. Theatre is an ever-changing fantasyland based on the human experience, but the fundamentals and practicalities to create that fantasyland are human and limited.

This is not to say that something is not always possible all the time – there is a creative process -- but there are equally creative limits that need respect and attention, again, if you plan well in advance. ("Oh but Joshua, how can you say that, that's the real world, that's how things are, that's what real theatre is like, that's what professionals do, that's just how things are at this level, you're just young, you're just naive."

Okay, but that doesn't make it better or right, and it's not the only way to do anything. Too bad you're stuck in a don't-rock-the-boat job. Hope it's worth it.) All because one guy had an expensive idea during tech week… Hope that $20,000 was a good investment for this remounted, touring kids' show.

So, my new motto of my New Joshua Order is this: E-LIM-I-NATE the muthuh-fuckuh (Happy Easter!). You know there is always one person, one little warped puppy in the brood, who never gets it right, never gets it done, never sees it through, and never gives a rat's ass about what anyone has to say about it, and never sees how it affects the rest. Or conversely, that one person who is surface-confident about everything, though nothing ever seems to go accordingly, and generally people have tons of criticism to deliver after shit goes down. I have been both these people many times along my road to where I am now. It's a learning process, it sucks, but it passes if you're smart and listen to others ever now and then. But now, ha ha, oh yes, I shall come with great vengeance on yo' ass if you are the muthuh-fuckuh. Nice doesn't do shit for getting anything accomplished, and Lord knows that no one has had even a smack on the hand for this production shoddy craftsmanship, lateness, etc., etc., and muh ma-fuckin' etc. No, you have to e-lim-i-nate the muthuh-fuckuh, in three easy steps:

You got to shut the muthuh-fuckuh up.

You got to close that muthuh-fuckuh down.

You got to shove that muthuh-fuckuh out.

Yes…e-lim-i-nate the muthuh-fuckuh.

"Oh Josh, that's so mean, that's so awful, that's so cruel, that's so horrible, how could you ever believe any of the things you're saying, you're wrong about everything, you're only 26 how could you know anything because you didn't even graduate or get a 9-5, what you know about anything, you stupid emotional male?"

And to that, I respond: (When you're sitting in a chair, wondering what the hell happened, with a confounded look on your face, wishing there was a way out…) "You shoulda listened to what the fuck I haaaaaad to say, muthuh-fuckuh!" Seriously, everyone needs to shut up, grow up, and get over whatever it is. And this includes myself, as I have had to shut up, grow up, and get over it plenty of times.

I am NOT out here trying to "find myself." You're wrong if you think that. I know precisely who I am, better than you think you do. I am out here proving to myself that I've shut up, grown up, and gotten over it. Two and a half outta three ain't bad….

And so it goes. Catch ya later, and if you're having a bad day, maybe you should kick a midget. It's illegal, but ever so much fun.

Ciao

Josh

Boston Dynamics "Big Dog"

Saw this video on AICN of the Boston Dynamics ambulatory robot, the "Big Dog" and wanted to post it here. These are walking tests for this particular robot and frankly, they freak my shit out a bit. Seeing something "non-human" acting in "human" ways dips dangerously towards the "Uncanny Valley" theory for me.

The footage of the robot correcting itself when kicked or when it slips on ice is creepy as hell. It's a big, clunky thing. It should fall over. And it doesn't. It corrects it's step and keeps on going. That creeps me out.

Check it out...



EDITED LATER TO ADD:

I didn't know so many other people would be equally horrified by the "Big Dog". (When it wobbles to get it's footing, it reminds me of the tri-clopsian walkers from "War of the Worlds".) People, like me, who are fascinated, but also disturbed by things walking around that probably should not be...will be fascinated by this clip too.

I give you, Theo Jansen, Kinetic Sculptor.



More information on Jansen. From his "TED" talk...

JESUS CHRIST SUPERBRUNCH!

Way back in 2002, my improv troupe, "Swiss Family Robots" hosted an Easter brunch party for our sister improv troupe, "Ninja". Team members and their spouses/girlfriends/boyfriends and others showed up for a majestic spread of breakfast foods and a showing of the 1973 movie of the Steven Sondheim mega-musical "Jesus Christ Superstar". Folks who had already seen the movie were thrilled to see it again. There was a lot of exciting singing-along happening. Folks who had never seen the movie before, were either surprised or enthralled with all of the showy, 1970's glam-rock presentation. Lots of laughs all the way around...

A week or two ago, at Stinger rehearsal, J. Ben Parker brought it up again. He asked if anyone would be interested in gathering to eat brunch and see the movie together. Again, folks who knew the movie jumped on it. Folks who hadn't seen it said, "Well, all right. If YOU guys want to see it, I guess it would be fun."

A week or so later, a location has been found and folks are stepping up to claim items to bring potluck. We'll be eating Fresh fruit, Grands biscuits, eggs, Canadian Bacon, Coffee from Sayjal's French Press, Juice, Milk, Sweet Potatoes and Mimosas. At noon, we're popping in the DVD of the movie and eating and enjoying the meals together and celebrating the Glory of the Lord (of musicals) together...

I can't wait.

Here's the trailer to the 1973 movie. (The numbers being counted down are lashes on Christ's back, as counted by Pontius Pilate in one of the climactic numbers.)

10 Dumb Things I Did To Get Laid (which did not work.)

10 Different Girls.
10 Different Strikeouts.

1. Helped a girl that I barely knew, move her upright, arcade-style Pac-Man machine down three flights of stairs, into a truck, driven to a new apartment and up one flight of stairs.

2. Sang the harmony part of Extreme's "More Than Words" multiple times for church youth program meetings, wearing what was considered a "cool" outfit at the time.

3. Drove back to her host families house, after the pool party was over, waited in her yard, per her instructions. Eventually had to make a mad dash for my car, when I realized that her "host dad" had released the twin pair of homicidal Doberman Pinchers for the night, to patrol their property. The next day, she flew back to Sweden.

4. Attended a week-long church camp in Destin, FL in high school. I didn't find a girlfriend, but my roommate found the Lord and there was a lot of crying that week.

5. Sat, freezing, in the back of my first car, while the cast party raged on inside, listening to a girl who was nicknamed "The Mouse" talk about how much she hated her mother and cry sporadically.

6. Pretended to care about her horses.

7. Pretended to care about the FBI and Serial Killers.

8. Walked a man-sized Great Dane for one month, picking up dog turds larger that I could produce on those walks and pretending to care about Elvis much more than I actually did.

9. Attended more college dance concerts than any heterosexual man would ever willingly attend.

10. Attended and played in a live action vampire role-playing game at a sci-fi/ horror convention, in a shabby, forgotten convention hotel in the back-hills of Western Kentucky.

Looking Forward To Future Sickness...

I've been trying to book this particular guest in SFS for a few months now. I feel like he would be a very smart compliment to the show. I think his personal playing style and his artistic philosophies will really gel nicely with the show. And if it all works out, we might be able to bring him back to the show for future performances.

In short, I'm a fan of this particular performer and would really love to spend a little time hanging out with him, listening to whatever story he wants to tell.

Well, I just got a confirmation email from him and Greg Allen, Founder of the Neo-Futurists, will be playing with the cast of "Sickest F***ing Stories" in the June performance!

I think that's very exciting! I bet people would want to see that.

Hollywood: A brief tirade

I just read today that the director of "Very Bad Things" is shooting ANOTHER remake of Frank Herbert's "Dune". (For those of you keeping track of such things, this would be the THIRD remake of the popular sci fi epic.)

Meanwhile, one of the big Hollywood blockbusters that we're being primed to see this summer is another "Incredible Hulk" movie. (This would also technically be the third Hulk movie as the pilots for the 1970's Lou Ferrigno tv-show was also released as a motion picture in movie theaters and did pretty well, too. The 2003 Ang Lee movie, "The Hulk" had the Hulk fighting Hulkanized dogs. I shit you not.)

They are currently filming a live action version of the GI JOE cartoon show.

Ridley Scott is reshooting "The Andromeda Strain" for a tv miniseries.

"The Land Of The Lost" is being turned into a movie now.

"Robocop" is coming back.

"Fame" is coming back. No doubt, it will be hyper-"American Idol"ized and nearly unwatchable. (Let's face it, the source material is pretty fucking terrible.)
The Wolverine solo sequel is almost completely shot and will be out next year.

The director of "Mad Max", George Miller, is working up a live-action "Justice League" movie.

Universal Studios has signed a deal to shoot 7 different movies based on "Dark Horse Comics" properties.

Also, the "Harry Potter" series merrily marches on...
As does the "Chronicles of Narnia"...
As does the CGI "Star Wars : Clone Wars" movie...
As does the "Star Trek" movie series (although Abrams spin on the next movie sounds interesting)...
As does the "James Bond" movie series...
As does the "Batman" movie series...
As does the "Terminator" movie series...

As do the "Epic/Date / Superhero parody" movie series...

ENOUGH!
ALREADY!

DEAR HOLLYWOOD,

PLEASE QUIT TRYING TO SELL US THE SAME OLD SHIT THAT WE'VE ALREADY BOUGHT, TIME AND TIME AGAIN.

WE DON'T WANT FRANCHISES.

WE WANT STORIES.

WE ARE STARVING FOR A CLEAR LOGICAL NARRATIVE. ONE THAT DOESN'T AIM TO GET US TO A WEBSITE, TO BUY AN ACTION FIGURE OR TO GO SEE TWO MORE FUCKING MOVIES TO SEE HOW THE FUCKING STORY ENDS!

(FUCK YOU MATRIX MOVIES!)

YOUR TICKET SALES ARE NOT AT A RECORD LOW BECAUSE OF ONLINE CONTENT OR MOVIE PIRACY. IT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE BANKRUPT. YOU HAVE NOTHING NEW OR INTERESTING TO SELL US. IT'S SO BAD, YOU'RE PICKING THROUGH OUR CHILDHOOD LIBRARIES, TRYING TO SELL US STORIES WE ALREADY OWN!

(DID WE REALLY NEED A SECOND WILLY WONKA MOVIE, ALMOST IDENTICAL TO THE FIRST ONE?)

SERIOUSLY, FUCK YOU HOLLYWOOD.

THANKS FOR BEING SO FUCKING BORING AND REPETITIVE, THAT NATIONAL POLITICS LOOKS INTERESTING. THAT'S HOW MUCH YOU FUCKING BORE ME.

IF YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BOTHER TO MAKE ANYTHING NEW OR INTERESTING, I'M NOT GOING TO BOTHER TO GO SEE YOUR SHITTY, SHITTY MOVIES AT ANYTHING NEAR FULL PRICE.

NO MONEY FOR YOU, FUCKWADS.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a "Battlestar Galactica" boxed set to go pick up and peruse for the next few days. It ain't new, but it certainly IS interesting.

Disappointed,

Mr.B

(PS. You can't create "whimsy" in a corporate boardroom, you fucking cretins.)

Jackass: Oklahoma

Hey, Look!

Someone posted one of my favorite "Jackass" clips on the Youtube.

Enjoy!



Cheers,
Mr.B

The Blowjob Conundrum...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

April's Rat-tacular Sickest Stories!

People are already reserving tickets online for the April edition of "Sickest Stories". Which always makes me a little nervous, when tickets are sold THIS early in advance. I always think that they're going to come this weekend to see the show and be forced upon some other show's box office, demanding to hear their dirty stories, when that's not the show that's playing at all. Hasn't happened yet, but I always think that it might.

But the reservations for the show are slowly coming together. I think that the April show is going to be pretty full, for a couple of different reasons...

1.) Tony Rielege is putting together a "singles social group" and they're doing the April SFS as one of their events. I've even given him a password to get slightly cheaper tickets online. (You have to email him to get the password.)
I suspect that they will represent and if the free preview was any indication, they'll take up half the house.

2.) The weather is slowly getting nicer. I think that people are going to be more likely to come out for this show (and other late night shows) when they don't mind standing in line outside for a bit. We're a REALLY fun late night date.

3.) We've got two REALLY special guests lined up for the April show. Ratcatcher Juan is a friend of mine who actually works in the extermination business. Two weeks ago, he and his boss stumbled upon the week-old corpse of an old man in a nursing home. He's found cockroaches in residence inside the asshole of a living homeless guy. He kicks the heads off of rats for a living. So, THAT guy has some stories. We're lowering the bar for that show.

In addition to that, we're running a promotion whereupon one randomly selected audience member will be pulled up onstage and put into the show. I think that will draw audience members in, too. People WANT to be in that show. I get emails about that all the time. So, here's a rare chance for them to make that happen. I think that they will come out for that.

I don't want to give too much away, but we've REALLY got a fun surprise lined up to select our random audience member for the show. It will involve a little bit of unintentional ass sniffing. You gotta love that.

Also, we're going to have an open-ended promotion that "Ladies who flash the box office their tits get free admission." Harz, who is pledged to cover box office for a few shows, is TOTALLY down with that plan. We shall see if that ACTUALLY happens or not.

And the mailing list for the show is slowly, surely, gaining momentum too.

Lots of fun stuff is lined up for that show (and future shows too). I can't wait to see this stuff actually come together. Looks like it's going to be one "sick" summer!

Cheers,
Mr.B

You can't go back, even if you want to...

On March 9th, of this year, three states away, an old friend from college got out a box of notes, cards and pictures, clearing through these things for an upcoming yard sale...

...stop me, Brandi, if this is something that I can't or shouldn't talk about...

In digging through all of these layers of who she was in high school, college and beyond, it made her remember so much of her past. The people that she used to know. The people she lost. The people she still has contact with.

And me.

I'm in the the third category. People she still has contact with.

And feeling this nostalgia, she wrote me this very lovely, long, expressive email about what she found and what she was thinking about. Events centered around her losing her virginity to a guy that we both knew. And how I reacted to it. (The judgmental little prick that I was, I gave her grief about it. Not because I objected to sex, but because I thought the guy was a grade-a asshole and it was disappointing that she not only didn't see that, but because she wanted to sleep with him. Ah, these things seemed like such a big deal, back then.)

I didn't remember much about the conversation that she and I had about that event, but in reading her memories about it, I could almost see the whole day and what we said then. So intense to go back and think about that stuff. 15 years later...

Jesus, 15 years.

What have I been doing with my time?

Anyways, she talked about Myspace and the people she'd found on there. She named two girls that I vaguely remembered. One of them, more than the other. In fact, I crushed pretty hard on the first little gal. God, the dumb things I did to try to get her attention. I wish I'd just relaxed and enjoyed her friendship. That was all the was offering.

The other girl, I remembered a little less well. Looking back at a picture of her on my friends Myspace page, I had dim memory that she was a bit of a bad girl, back then. I think that she probably didn't pay too much attention to me, back then. I was probably a little bit scared of her.

And so, with my friends encouragement, I logged onto Myspace under the auspice of the show that I produce and located the page for my high school.

I found almost 1200 people registered on there as alumni of that school.

Fuck, that's a lot of people.

I narrowed the search down to people, aged 29 - 33. Being 32 myself, that would've included people who graduated a year ahead of me and the people in the three grades below me. Surely some of them would've been friends.

That narrowed the search down to 29 pages of people. With 6 entries on each page, that was 174 individual myspace pages to sift through, looking for familiar faces.

The first thing that I noticed is that the user names were little help. I didn't graduate from high school with anyone named "PoohBear" or "SuCkontHiZBItcheZ".

So, I decided to skip the names and concentrate on the people nearest to my age rage and if possible to the picture. If I thought I recognized the person and/or they were vaguely near my own age, I would click on the page and take a good look at them. I looked at picture pages and blog entries and friends lists, looking for anything familiar.

I didn't find many familiar faces.

Maybe it's because that seems so far removed from me.
Maybe because my memory isn't as strong for me, as I thought it was.

Whatever the reason, I would look at these people and click through their picture pages and think, "Nope. No idea who this person is."

Even though the names and faces weren't familiar to me, the lifestyles were. I saw tons of pictures of people at the Kentucky Derby or down by the Ohio river. I saw wedding pictures, beach vacations, random formal occasions, posing in frozen smiles with people I didn't recognize. I saw family pictures with kids. I saw holiday pictures with now ancient parents. People hugging and smiling at the camera. People kissing. The pictures that people chose to represent them on Myspace to strangers and friends alike.

I was shocked to see how many of those people stayed back in Kentucky. The souls that moved out really were the exceptions to the rule. If I were to guess, I would say that 95% of the people I looked at were still in Kentucky, a few miles from home and/or the school.

I guess I felt proud, for a little bit, that I'm not there anymore. That I live in the city I always wanted to live in, wearing silly little costumes and acting a right turd at my little theater. I like my life and I just couldn't live it, if I'd stayed back in Kentucky. There just aren't places there for people like me to be who we need to be. Maybe it was less a move of accomplishment and more of one of survival. I had to get out, to go to a different place to become myself.

In her email to me, my friend mentioned a possible reunion some time this year for all of the old drama people. I think that she anticipated that I would avoid it because I avoided my own 10 year high school reunion.

But I wouldn't.

I would go to a theater reunion. (And I'll likely go to my own 20 year high school reunion.)

I am happy with who I am and where I live and how I live. I don't have pictures of kids, at the beach, but I have these wonderful stories about the rare life that I get to live. I'm comfortable in my own skin and with my own nearly receded hairline. I would be comfortable going home and catching up with old friends and old acquaintances. I like who I am. I think that they might like who I am too.

And if they don't, fuck em. They're all getting fatter and balder too. Such is life.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to go put on my ipod, and take a mile-long stroll around my neighborhood. I'm feeling paunchier, fatter and balder than I normally do and I am compelled to take a few steps (three blocks worth, actually) to trim off the two brownies I had at the the intern, theater performance tonight.

Cheers,
The guy in the picture below (15 years later)

Worth a 1000 Words... All Nerdy.

Whilst looking for something else on Google today, I stumbled upon this picture and had to post it to my blog.



Please note that the town that a fictional character's biography lists as his birthplace, has marked the city's pride by building a PVC-pipe version of a spaceship, affixed to a trailer, which is parked on the outskirts of town.

Finally, the residents of this tiny berg, all have a monument that can unite them in their indifference...

On The Road With Josh #5: The Beginning of The Midwest

Josh is currently on tour with a national musical touring show company. To keep his sanity amidst the natives, he is emailing travelogues out from the road. He has graciously agreed to let me post them here for your enjoyment.

Names of some identifiable theaters, towns and country music stars have been edited to protect Josh from identifying Google searchs. CAPITALIZED NOUNS indicate my only edits to his posts.

Fans, who wish to track Josh's ongoing travels can read his previous entries here.

On The Road With Josh #5:
The Beginning of The Midwest

Greetings, eh? I'm writing from Duluth, MN, up 'ere close to da range, yah. Actually, no one I have met all day has spoken with a stereotypical Northern accent. I am staying at the TOWN NAME Resort & Water Park. "Duluth" and "resort" and "water park" should not be in the same sentence, unless of course the "park" is contained, terrarium-like indoors. Seriously, with the amount of children in the hotel right now (read: totally full up) the humidity must be doing wonders for the annual pre-pubescent feces count. The building we are staying in is actually across the state route from the main building. We didn't know this when we checked in, and had to truck-it up hill exodus-style with our luggage for .5 miles. The rooms are nice, though, and for the first time in God knows how long we actually have the Bravo channel.

But let us back it up a bit and talk about Huntington, WV. You may want to settle in, there is much to say. So we knew we would be performing in the LOCAL ACTOR CELEBRITY TYPE theatre, an old vaudeville house, which should inspire thoughts of pride and amazement at such a gem of early twentieth century Americana. But then you go there and leave all things good and right and modern behind in the hopes of a really super fast death. There is much to be said for the days of yore, because not everything modern works properly, either. There is much to be said for modernity, however, in this case, and believe me it was screaming in pain when I met the man in charge. Picture if you can the most rickety, old blonde-wood stage floor, with no wings, and a fly system that emitted dust and Lord knows what else every time something was raised or lowered. And standing in the middle of the 15 good-ol' boys making up the peanut gallery of IATSE crew who showed up to sit and eat (notice, I did not say work), was -- in all of his Sweatin'-To-The-Oldies glory, simultaneously coughing up something black, spitting it into a handkerchief, and shaking my hand while exclaiming, "Well, how the hell are ye? Welcome, welcome. Yeah, we know she could use some work, but she runs fahn jest the same. Y'all want some r'freshments? Git on down to the basement." – Bob…..

…..quois?.... Firstly, I have not and will not ever "git" to anywhere, and secondly, quelle ick. The basement, for indeed it was, looked like something out of the movie "Hostel," and bebes I wish I were kidding. All unfinished, crumbling, chafing, sweaty, leaking, dusty concrete floors/walls/ceiling; doors made of iron or painted-over steel or some other indestructible metalloid that looked like cell-block or stable doors with multiple bars and locks; hallways and rooms, some with lights, some without, some with one light bulb hanging down from the ceiling; and my favorite, the most macabre scene of all, the boxes of random mannequin parts off to the side of the orchestra pit (this place brought a league of new images and meanings to the term "orchestra pit.") I walked into the dressing rooms, noted that the toilets had not been flushed, the vanity lighting didn't work, the fluorescent lighting buzzed, and nothing had been cleaned, and turned to the stage manager and asked if we were living in our last days and if I had time to ride my bike one more time before I was sold to deformed lunatics in the deserts of the Western U.S, or to those who live in Appalachia. We went into the "green room," or "slaughter nook" if you prefer, and were greeted by Edna. Edna reigned behind a table of jelly-filled powder doughnuts, Oreos, chips, and 15 boxes of pizzas. And she? She was the kind of woman you could do two things with: A) Prune in the sun while sipping Arbor mist and chain-smoking Marlboro Reds under the heading of "vacation", and/or B) make sweet drunken lovin-up with on a recliner.

We passed on the food. We went up to the second floor to check out those dressing rooms. Better (and that's sayin' it was still shitty), and behind one door we heard what sounded like a chainsaw. Maybe it was the heightened ick we felt, or maybe it's where Dwayne, the monkey-faced mass-murderer lived. After a shockingly long load in (lift-gate on truck, roll to first ramp up, and long steep ramp down to stage for all 26 tons of our stuff) we went back to the hotel to sleep before our THREE-SHOW DAY AND LOAD OUT MAKES ME CRY LIKE BABY JESUS.

The hotel was full, full, full for the car show all weekend, which was located conveniently right next door to the hotel. The hotel lost water for an entire day. This posed a problem for lots of reasons, but most incredulous was the preparation of my frozen orange chicken from (say it with a smile, now, yet again, and with a joyous Southern Baptist urgency) Wal-Mart. The directions required me to melt/heat up the sauce packet in water before mixing with the chicken. I tried everything I could think of to obtain water, short of walking the five blocks to some place that sold bottled water. Then it hit me, it might be strange, and slightly pathetic, but what else could I do? Well, the only thing that made sense:

1) Go to ice machine while chicken is microwaving. Fill bucket half full of ice. Return to room.

2) Rotate chicken. Throw four plastic cups of ice into the carafe of the coffee maker and turn it on so that the hot plate melts the ice.

3) Let chicken cool.

Empty carafe as needed to accommodate sauce packet, place sauce packet in carafe. Leave for 3 minutes.

4) Take out sauce packet, open, drizzle on chicken, enjoy.

The crew was as nice as they knew how to be, but were not the best help to us; too many with not enough of, oh, everything that would have helped us. The shows came and went. We were heading to Skokie the next day, and all would be sentient and well with the Joshua.

The next venue we went to was in Whitewater, WI, a sleepy little town with a great college performing arts center, although, it did sport the "Watosha Hair Hut", and "Sassy Shirts". The student help we received was beyond superb; restored my faith that college is not synonymous with clueless. The hotel, though, was a trip. Called "The Baymont", I walked into my room, or shall I say basement apartment from the late 80's. Oh snap, I be ridin' dirty up in dis bitch, y'all! Fo' rill, fo' rill! It was like high school age Wilt Chamberlain lite. The spacious brown carpeted, hot-tubbed, clap-on-clap-offed, track/recessed lighting-lit, dark-wood wall-paneled suite not only had a full mirrored wall adjacent to the bed, but it had dimmers, it's own private back entrance, and VO5 hair-care products. I shit you not! I think I laughed for fifteen minutes straight. This truly was a place to put some stank on the ol' hang down, ya know? I was futzing with the alarm clock, and on popped everyone's favorite 80's hit, "We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off" by the irrepressible Jermaine Stewart….I think the Baymont really is a Wisconsin nooky factory. The hot tub, though truly a joy in theory, did make me wonder about contracting something like Clamydiherpesyphilitis. I mean, as thrilling as it was to be in a den of love-stained love, I was curious about housekeeping's ethics. Big-ballin', nonetheless, was our Joshua.

We traveled to Minneapolis for a day off, stayed right downtown. The rest of the hotel was gorgeous, but my floor – where bad painting prints go to die, and renovation has not reached yet – was like the "Minnesotan Country Living, But I Mean Like Way Out in the Country Catalog". Blue and mauve was the name, bold floral was the game. Points of interest along the way to Duluth included the "Booze 'N' Go", and the "Waiting for A Star to Fall Puppy Emporium" (read: barn and house combo.) Seriously? A puppy supermarket in barn named after a Boy Meets Girl hit….?

Next up is Detroit Lakes, MN, then Brookfield, WI, and then our long Easter Break in Cedar Falls, IA. We have two shows and a drive tomorrow, a 5:30a.m. load in and two show day on Thursday. Wish me good touring karma. Have yo'self a happy b'day!

Ciao, y'all,

Joshua

Good News, Everyone!

Dear Friends and Fellow Fans of Futurama,

I will be reading the part of Professor Farnsworth at the spec script reading of Dave Simon's "Futurama" script on April 17th, at 7pm at the IO learning annex. Dave has briefly described this as "a Farnsworth heavy episode" as the professor goes off of his mood-altering meds and reverts back to his previous career as a space super-villain.

For those of you who are fans of the show, it should be a lot of fun to hear this script read outloud for an audience.

For those of you who have tolerated my impressions of Farnsworth for a couple of years now, this will be a public performance of a private joke that you've secretly wished I would drop.

For me, this will be a Grand Coming Out party, the likes of which Clark St has never seen. I will be letting my inner Farnsworth out for the audience.

Which you could be a part of, if you want to join us...

at the IO learning annex...
on April 17th
at 7pm...

Come hear THIS guys voice coming out of my mouth...

Milkovich's Penis

Before you read this, please note that I've had to change the spelling on some of the names of the people referenced in this story, to keep this blog entry from being searchable by Google filters. I don't have permission to blog this story. I'd rather that the people involved (or their lawyers) not find this via a Google Search and throw a legal hissy fit.

Your eyes are not deceiving you. The names are intentionally misspelled.

This guy, Bill, is one of the acting teachers here at the theater.



He's a pretty well known actor around town. He's been "in the game" for a bunch of years. (A VG timeline that I saw recently referenced a show that he performed in, in 1975. The year I was born.) He teaches one of the most popular classes at our theater.

He and I are getting to be friends. I helped him dodge an annoying guy who was harassing him about producing one of Bill's plays. This guy had offended my boss, one of my co-workers and Bill. When I finally called this guy and told him that the play wasn't available and that ended all discussion, he agreed to drop it. Bill thanked me for that. I tactfully ended something that he had been dodging for weeks. So, we're friends now. We chat and he's threatening to go out to the local bar with me, after his last class, with the other teachers here. A really nice guy.

Today, we were talking about the "impermanence of theater". How you do a show for so long and when it's done, you have very little to show for it, except some posters or some programs. I've recently stumbled across the philosophy that we accept the hard parts of this lifestyle with the singular goal of being able to enjoy this lifestyle for as long as we can. That's the goal. To do it as long as we possibly can. To become one of "the old farts" hanging around the theater. Because as long as we have a keen mind and the verbal faculties to express ourselves, we have something to offer an audience.

"Don't forget the memories," he said, "they have value too."

"Sure," I said. I absolutely agreed with him. My memories of my shows are very valuable to me.

"I have seen and done some shit in shows, that is STILL with me," he said. "I'll tell you one of them, really quickly." And he told me a story that involved these two fine, American actors of the modern stage.



and



"We were doing 'Uncle Vanya', this was, what, ten twenty years ago and John and John were in it with me. The two John's."

"The central action was happening downstage. Something really heavy and dramatic. I'm playing "Waffles" and I am am barely in this scene. I'm upstage from the action of the show and I'm playing this song on guitar. I don't know how to play guitar, but I've learned these two songs for the show and how to noodle around in them, if I need to."

"Anyways, I'm upstage and I feel like my fingers are bleeding, because I'm not used to playing guitar. And just when I think I can't take it anymore, I look over and there's Milkovich. And he's got his back turned to the audience, a full house audience mind you and his pants are unzipped and his wang is hanging out."

"And he's smiling at me, waiting for me to see it."

"It throws me for a second, but I try to recover and not laugh outloud, and that's when John Mihoney walks onto stage, carrying his props, I think it was a wine bottle and he walks right into Milkovich, who looks up at him and whispers, 'Hey John, how do you think Bill is at playing the skin guitar?' and he looks down and sees Milkovich's penis."

"And Mihoney, who is famous for breaking up onstage, turns bright red, turns away from the audience and is just gasping for air, trying not to draw the audiences attention away from whatever was happening downstage. He almost dropped that wine bottle right then and there."

"I laughed quietly to myself and just kept playing that guitar."

"They're funny guys, those two. Watch out though. If you're ever onstage with them, they'll try to get you."

Bill and I laughed and laughed about that one.

Check out this shot.

In an article on AOL about presidential pardons, I stumbled on this picture of former FBI agent, Mark Felt.



I can't imagine the necessity for this picture, but I think it's cool as hell. Felt is in his cool-ass G-man suit and has his gun out and clearly "ready for action"! Or for whatever action happens out in the desert.

I dig this shot.

I like the layout.
I like his style.
I like how he looks like he's about to blow some punk away.
I like his casual, cockiness with his gun.
It's even better knowing that he's an actual FBI agent.

I think I need to use this shot in promo material for something. I dunno what, but if I hang onto it long enough, I'll find a use for it.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Watch THESE Watchmen!

Holy Christ! I never thought I would be living in a world where there's footage of The Comedian that looks THIS good. NiteOwl looks amazing, as well. Just like the Batman analogue that he's suppossed to be. I also note that he's not some over-buffed kid. He's an older man, with the appropriate amount of older man weight on him. Perfect.

Let's just hope that they don't fuck the script up.

The Comedian


Ozymandias


Rorschach


Silk Spectre


NiteOwl

Welcome to Hollywood, Diablo Cody! Show us your tits!

If there's ever been a more succinct analogy for how Hollywood treats people, than the Diablo Cody story, then I haven't heard of it.

Diablo Cody is this twenty-something, tattooed young gal who just won the Oscar for her original screenplay for "Juno". "Juno" is a movie about a sassy, verbally-precocious teenage girl who gets pregnant, everyone around her says something witty and then she meets this witty couple who want to adopt her baby, which she initially thinks is a good idea, but then thinks she might keep the baby. Some shit happens. People say some uncomfortably self-conscious witticisms, the baby is born (or it isn't) and then the movie is over.

I've never seen "Juno".
I probably never will see "Juno".
The truth is, I don't fucking care about teenage pregnancies in comedies or melodramas and the current fad of writing characters who speak like they're already aware that a movie is being made about them, in an unnatural way that nobody actually speaks like, makes me want to throw up on my shoes. It's snark, dressed up as charm and it's as lifeless as a Romero zombie. I blame "Napoleon Dynamite" for convincing Hollywood that having your characters mouths move and form sentences, in between the long, vapid staring is the same as having them actually converse.

I digress.

I probably won't see "Juno" any time soon. I have placed it on the list of "Movies that are not targeted to my demographic and therefore I have no interest in". It's sandwiched right between "The Trip To Bountiful" and "The Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants". I don't hate these movies (in the same way that I fucking hate the recent spate of rip-off movies, like "Epic Movie", "Date Movie", "Meet The Spartans". I fucking HATE those movies. I want to punch them in their fucking faces). No, these movies are just movies that I don't care about, either way.

And so it is that I know as much about the screenwriter for "Juno" as I do about the movie. Vague notions of the plot, picked up from articles and gossip and the attention-deficit reporting of most news programs. "Juno" is the first screenplay by Diablo Cody. Apparently, Hollywood went apeshit for this script, bidding high for it and then rushing it into production. Maybe it was for the easily marketable concept and the clear reach for a specific target audience or maybe it was because the language was just so, fucking hip, or maybe it was because Hollywood hasn't seen a script that isn't an adaptation of a comic book, video game, toy product or Disney ride in so long that they went bonkers for a seemingly original script. Whatever the reason, Hollywood had a boner for "Juno" and for Cody, the screenwriter.

It probably didn't hurt that Cody was also supposedly a former Vegas stripper who spent her "Rub Her Tits In Your Face" money on a computer and spent her non-ass-grinding hours writing "Juno". I'm sure that wasn't a hard selling point for Hollywood at all, no sir.

(As a quick aside, Ryan has mentioned to me a few times now, that he suspects that whole backstory is elaborated upon to give Cody a more interesting background than she actually has. He thinks that she danced astride a pole for less than a month, but has fleshed that out in her biography to grab attention. Dunno if that's true or not, I'm just presenting Ryan's theory.)

So, "Juno" is made and does decently well at the box-office and the critics are luke-warm to the movie, but somehow, the film gets a nod for "Best Director" and "Best Picture". Although, everyone on the planet knows that the "Best Picture" will go to the Coen Brothers latest epic film about People Pointlessly Killing Other People, "No Country For Javier Bardem's Haircut."

On Oscar night, though, the sassy young Cody wins the "Best Original Screenplay" award and thanks all the appropriate people and thus begins her career as a talented, respected, young screenwriter, right?

Sort of.

The day after Cody won her award, some forgotten scumbag from her past sells a couple dozen topless pics of her to anyone who is willing to pay for a glimpse of Cody's perky nipples.

Boom.

Less than 24 hours after she wins the oscar, pictures of her wearing a whipped cream bra are posted on the internets. They weren't there the day before. I know. I looked. But give her some prestige and the web is ready to strip that of her, right away.



To celebrate her Oscar win, the scatalogically obsessed media posts headlines about her win over this charming picture of Cody giving her Oscar the beginnings of a pretty well practiced blowjob.



I suspect that a ton of pictures were taken of her with her statue. Non-descript pictures of a happy, young lady with her major award, but none of them really grabs the seedy, learing nature of Hollywood's need to remind us that she probably blew a few guys for extra cash... when she was a stripper...than one where she's about to fellate a small, hard, golden man, do they?

So, the day after she wins the oscar, the interwebs post two important messages

1.) This hot and horny slut will let you lick whipped cream off of her nipples if you pay her enough.
2.) She probably gives good head, huh, fellas? Right? Huh? I bet she does! (Wink Wink).

I am trying to remember which pictures of Paddy Chayefsky, wearing dairy products for underwear, were printed in the newspaper after he won the 1976 oscar for "Best Original Screenplay" for "Network".

Hang on, let me go Google those...



Well, that's as close as you get.

Scandalous.

Honestly, as I sit here and think about how quickly it went from "the Best Night Of Diablo Cody's Life" to "Another Shitty Day In a Shitty Business In a Truly Shitty Town", I really feel sorry for her. I know. I know. She's fine. She's got cash, a good job, an oscar, a contract to write whatever she wants, etc. etc. etc. But I'm still feeling bad about how quickly the media machine shit on her.

And I'm embarrassed that THAT is the culture that we live in. You can't just have a moment to be great at something. You can't just enjoy a little recognition. Before you're done enjoying the moment, the band is already playing you off the stage, the microphone is sinking into the floor and there are hordes of bastards waiting in the wings to shellac you in a head-to-toe coat of shit, much and garbage. You can't just feel "good" about what you did or won. You have to know, "somehow, this will be lessened for me, before a whole day and night pass." And that just sucks.

I feel like we, as a culture, are in a serious need for a little maturation. It feels like our media is being run by 12 year old, little girls, who want to scream and caterwaul about who has a bump and who doesn't and give celebrity couples "adorable" nicknames, like "Bennifer" and "Brangelina". I feel like our media has been Bedazzled to death. And like a 12 year old, little girl, there's swift retribution to be dealt to the "bad girls" and "sluts" of our culture. Diablo Cody used to take her clothes off and writhe for money. So, she deserves to have pictures of all of that, rubbed in her face.

Fucking Juvenile.

It's no wonder that Cody looks so exhausted in this picture, posted on her blog, the morning after she won the Oscar. Apparently, it takes a lot out of a girl to be up all night, blowing Oscar. (And he's STILL hard, the morning after!)



Fucking Ridiculous.

Mr.B

PS. Before you say it, let me be the one to point out that I am just as guilty of my own juvenile media obsessions. Do a quick search for me railing on about how dumb Heidi Klum is or which celebrities I want to nail or what's wrong with Polish porn actresses and you'll see my inner 12 year old, little girl. I know my credentials, as media critic, are for shit. Let's just agree on that principle and then move onto my actual argument here.